


Too Late for Goodbyes

by TheTinKicker



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29136543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTinKicker/pseuds/TheTinKicker
Summary: Takes place between the season one finale and season two opener. Tommy Shelby escorts Grace Burgess from the train station just after she shoots Inspector Chester Campbell out of self-defense.
Relationships: Arthur Shelby & John Shelby & Tommy Shelby, Chester Campbell & Tommy Shelby, Grace Burgess/Tommy Shelby, Polly Gray & Tommy Shelby
Kudos: 8





	Too Late for Goodbyes

It was a clever trick and Grace Burgess felt proud deep down, in spite of the shock of having just shot a man. Not just any man, but one who had recently been her superior officer. She lowered her handbag once again to watch Inspector Chester Campbell fall back onto the station platform. She had wounded him in the leg as opposed to the chest. A miscalculation and she accepted that. Her job had been to deceive and seduce. Then again, falling in love with the notorious Thomas Shelby wasn't part of her mission briefing. Campbell himself had made his feelings quite clear, particularly after his marriage proposal in the cemetery.

It was time to go and she knew it. There was nothing left for her in Small Heath, or Birmingham for that matter. She had no doubt that Polly Gray would follow through on her threat to kill Grace if she ever saw her again near The Garrison. Now that she thought of it, her words felt more like a promise than a threat. She looked down at Campbell, sprawled on his back. He was gasping for air and glared at Grace with extreme resentment. Writing a degrading letter was clearly not the height of his contempt for his former undercover officer. He glanced to his right and saw the revolver a mere ten inches from his hand. He could reach it and he knew it.

Grace turned, hopefully she could make it out of range before he had the chance to fire. He was clearly in shock. There was no doubt Inspector Campbell would want to hide the fact that he'd been shot by a woman from Churchill, and to protect his reputation at all costs. That shock could work in her favour. As hateful as the attempt to kill her had been, having the death of a police officer on her conscience, wherever she may end up was not an option in Grace Burgess' head.

She'd barely made a one-eighty when she heard the grunt and scrape of the revolver against the tarmac of the platform. Campbell may not have served but he was clearly faster than Grace had given him credit for. She glanced over her shoulder as she tried to up her pace from a stagger to a jog. Campbell had raised his head as well as his right arm. The hammer on his revolver had already been moved back, all it took was the squeeze of the trigger.

"Oi! Chester!" a familiar voice echoed from behind Campbell and he paused, then realising how dumb that decision was. Grace was well within his range at fifty yards and it was an easy shot.

The shot rang out and the brittle bones in Inspector Chester Campbell's right wrist shattered. The revolver had been blasted out of his hand and clattered onto the tracks to his left. The gasps then turned to blood-curdling screams as a shadow appeared from behind him. He found himself looking up the barrel of a Colt 1911. One shot had been fired and there were six remaining to be used generously.

Grace stopped her stagger and faced the direction of the shot. She saw him standing over Campbell and looking back at her. He raised his head slightly so the station light could reveal the face below the infamous cap.

"Alright, Grace?" Tommy Shelby nodded, before focusing his attention back down at Campbell.

"Tommy!" Grace exclaimed, attempting to start a dash towards him before Shelby raised his hand.

"Stay right where you are!" he said sternly, not daring to take his eyes off of Campbell for another second. He stared down at the man from Belfast who had tried to make a name for himself. Once word got around about the circumstances of his shooting, Campbell would become quite well-known indeed around Small Heath.

Shelby found himself grinning and made sure Campbell could see it, raise an eyebrow and scoff.

"What in all that is holy in this shithole of a town could you find so funny?!" he spat.

Tommy Shelby stepped around and crouched down with the barrel of the Colt resting on his knee, still aimed at Campbell's head. He tilted his head and smirked.

"I don't suppose Miss Burgess behind me knows about your recent adventure at Mr Zhang's Dry-Cleaning? Eh, Chester?"

Campbell rolled his eyeballs.

"What was her name again? Make sure your voice is loud and clear for myself and Grace to hear!" Tommy chuckled.

"Her name was Chinn."

"And that was a nasty bruise she had when you were done with her, right?" Tommy quizzed rhetorically.

Campbell looked across at Grace, whose expression hadn't changed. There was no sudden switch to smugness or even so much as a glimmer of her spirits being lifted.

"She wouldn't even sit beside you on the bed," Tommy sighed, shaking his head. He then leaned forward and the seriousness returned to his face. "Listen up. You have your guns and you have what you came here to Birmingham for. This town belongs to the Peaky Blinders. Go back to Belfast or to Churchill like the nice little bulldog you are. I have enough dirt on you to ruin you if the opportunity arises."

Tommy Shelby got to his feet and walked towards Grace. He asked if she was alright and she nodded. He gently touched her cheek and brought her by the chin for a kiss. He wanted to inflict one final act of pain for Inspector Campbell, this time an emotional one. He nodded towards the station exit and Grace happily curled her arm around his and they began walking together, past Campbell.

"You're just going to leave me here to bleed out?!" he yelled after them, craning his neck and making the mistake of moving his leg ever so slightly. The feeling of fifty knives shot through his thigh and sweat fell mercilessly from his temples.

Shelby paused and looked over his shoulder and gave a silent chuckle. Grace looked up at him and then behind her. She spun her head back around. She suddenly found herself ashamed of what she had done. It was self-defence and yet she still felt remorse. Her conscience was still there, at least on a smaller scale than before her arrival in Birmingham.

"Oh, don't worry. I'll make sure Moss and the boys are here without delay. Don't you worry yourself about that, dear Campbell. You can explain your story yourself," Shelby said, giving a final nod and escorting Grace Burgess away from the station platform.

"What made you come out here?" she asked as they made their way down the steps.

"I flipped a coin."

"Then I'd have been dead if it landed on the other side?"

"You could've shot him a second time."

#

Tommy Shelby gazed up at the ceiling with a cigarette in his right hand and Grace's blond hair in his left. She'd been resting her head on his shoulder for the past ten minutes as pants returned to regular breathing. The amber streetlights outside poked their way through the curtains. He figured there was nothing to worry about anymore in regards to Campbell. The stolen guns had been nothing but a pain and they were the Inspector's primary mission. Perhaps his secondary goal was Grace's hand in marriage but that wouldn't have made the slightest bit of difference to Churchill.

Billy Kimber was dead, the races belonged to the Shelbys and there was no doubt in Tommy's mind that shame would overtake Campbell's thirst for vengeance. His career had the opportunity to advance and Churchill would likely place him into the section of military intelligence. The recently-formed Soviet Union and Irish struggle for independence would be at the top of Churchill's and King George's list.

"You're still awake Tommy?" Grace whispered.

Tommy gave a verbal nod and took another puff of the cigarette. "I take it you are as well?"

She nodded, her chin brushing against Tommy's collarbone.

"Well, you can get going then, there's another train to Liverpool and Campbell's probably been taken away by now. Only a moron would go back to the scene of the crime and you've proved to them that you're far smarter than the average blonde," Tommy sighed, sitting up and reaching for his shirt. He threw his legs over the edge of the bed and slipped them into his trousers while Grace sat up on the bed behind him, holding the blanket up to her chest.

"What are you talking about, Tommy?" she gasped, rubbing an eye to properly awaken herself.

"You were headed to the states, right? You best get going. The boat leaves Liverpool tomorrow," Tommy said, nodding past the foot of the bed. "You know where the door is."

"You make love to me and now you're telling me to go?"

"That wasn't 'making love', that was little more than a good old fuck. An itch that needed scratching," Tommy scoffed, getting to his feet and fixing his belt and collar. All that was left was the jacket and cap and he was good to go. "There's a difference. No emotions whatsoever, not for me anyway. I enjoyed it though so I have to give you credit for that. Now sod off!"

Grace walked across the mattress on her knees with clenched teeth and made a poor attempt of a punch. Tommy took her by the wrist and forced both her arms together. He looked deeply into her eyes.

"You used me," she whispered. "Like a piece of meat!"

Tommy nodded. "Like you used me and my family to serve the King. The same King who sent me, my brothers and my comrades into rat-infested tunnels just to make himself feel above his cousin. What was in it for you, eh? Now you know how it feels to be used, to have your emotions toyed with. You brought back what the war took away from me and then you stuck a dagger, and stuck it again and again."

Grace took a deep breath.

"Moral of the story; don't ever fuck with me or my family. Never mess with the Peaky Blinders," Tommy ruthlessly hissed. He let go of her wrists and gave her a lighter shove than he intended back onto the mattress. He told her she had five minutes to get dressed and to fuck off.

#

"Oi Tommy!" Arthur and John Shelby roared in unison with their glasses of whiskey in their hands. They embraced their brother by the counter at The Garrison which had no shortage of patrons. Most were two sheets to the wind but that was more than welcomed. It made it easier to take more from their wallets.

"My brothers!" Tommy chuckled. "Where's my whiskey, lads? Come on! I'm feeling the need to celebrate here!" he added, slamming his palm onto the counter-top. He watched as John and Arthur nodded towards the private booth reserved for the Shelbys.

Polly Gray came into view and Tommy nodded back to say he'd be with them in a minute. He leaned against the counter and took the first sip of his whiskey and shrugged with approval.

"You're feeling the need to celebrate then are you?" she said. "Word out there is a copper's been shot and a certain blond-haired fling of yours was involved."

Tommy shrugged. "News to me, Pol."

"Don't fucking lie to me, Tommy boy!" she hissed, taking the glass from Tommy's hand and dunking her cigarette inside. She slammed the glass onto the counter and folded her arms. "Where were you?"

"Out," he replied, also folding his arms.

"With a cutie pie or with an Irish tart? I swore I'd kill her if I ever saw her again."

"Well, I've just made sure she wouldn't come back without having more blood on my hands."

"Like you'd ever give a shit about the blood on your hands," Polly laughed. She then leaned in with her well-known menacing face. "Ada had to put Karl between you and Kimber to prevent a bloodbath out back. She went to bed with that Communist bastard Freddie, got knocked up and yet she has more sense than the lot of you put together. You talk like you've won but eventually you're going to get restless and feel the need for more trouble. How else will you keep memories of the tunnels and shells out of your head? Arthur fights in the ring for that purpose, only a matter of time before he kills an ambitious young lad while sparring."

"You know, Polly," Tommy sighed, signalling the barman to pour another glass of whiskey. "Any complaints, you take it to the customer service department of the Peaky Blinders. That'd be myself, John or Arthur."

The second glass was placed into Tommy's hand and he raised it to Polly before stepping past her towards the private booth where drunken roars could be heard from the mouths of John and Arthur Shelby.

"It's a changing world, Pol," he called over his shoulder. "Women are encouraged to use their voices in my book!"

"What's the point if the men don't fucking listen?!" Polly called back with her folded arms and looked over at the barman, ordering him to pour her a drink.


End file.
